Mid Autumn and my daughter was stuck with a problem. What to do for her thirteenth birthday party? She is an enthusiast, and not yet dulled by the cynicism of adolescence. She’d tired of themed birthdays, witnessed the escalating arms race in lolly bags, was bored to death with The Zone, a shopping mall inspired miasma of electronic games and paint ball, and sworn off the desperately contrived excursions to Fun or Theme parks, like Sovereign Hill, or Water-world.
She yearned for something simple and distinctive. She had a brainwave! ‘Why not take the best of my friends camping – to ‘Our favourite spot!,’ the clearing in Wombat State Forest!’
I nodded, secretly thrilled for although this is just a clearing in the bush, it is a place of pilgrimage for me. Easy to get to. No fuss required; arrive, pitch the tent, and enjoy the atmosphere – no phones, no gas, no electricity, no discordant noise.
The invitations, designed and hand made by my daughter were dutifully sent out, and one by one over the following week the response and attendant enquiries came:
‘Will it be SAFE?’
‘Are there any PROPER toilets?’
‘Who is MANAGING this?’
‘Are you REALLY camping in tents?’
‘Will there be FIRE?’
Do they really want to ask ‘Do you have APPROPRIATE medical competency?’ and by inference “Is my child SAFE with YOU?’ (Am I being paranoid?) We imagined a cross referencing of phone calls amongst concerned parents, a bit of worrying and grudging acceptance.
Succumbing to the weight of concern about SAFE toilet facilities we decided to forego the ‘bush camp’ and settle for a formalised campsite, by a lake. The website depicted a “pleasant beauty spot”, That’s it, problem solved.
The advertised “pleasant beauty spot” was, on our arrival, a muddy morass crowded with campers intent on noise, unlimited alcohol, testosterone infused driving of motorbike and massive four wheel drive – which consisted of much revving of motor, then using the aggressively treaded tyres to dig and throw as much mud as possible. They seemed to sneer at the arrival of our small convoy and our young campers. We could barely hear each other over the revving motors and the amplifiers blaring a fusion of ‘Southern Rock’ and ‘Black Sabbath’.
Our decision to leave was instantaneous, and as dusk approached we raced to our preferred spot. It was isolated, serene, and bathed in a late winter light. Unpacking we furiously set about building the fire. This was great fun. Flames flickered between the leaves gathered furiously by the girls. It burned magnificently, and then, as the girls roasted marshmallows we set about the tedium of setting up the tent and preparing dinner. That night we all slept famously. After a hearty breakfast cooked on the campfire the girls had a competition of sorts to build shelters out of branches and leaves
Perhaps the parents, regaled with tales of great fun, (and toiletry of the most primitive kind), will demur when the next camp is proposed.
It transpired as the girls laughed under the glow of the campfire, that most of them had never ever been camping and now my daughter says, almost acknowledging it as an established fact, this was the best party ever.
Yes, the camp was an outrageous success!!!
THE END